


The Envoy

by QuickCharade



Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 22:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickCharade/pseuds/QuickCharade
Summary: Nym Rolark is a skilled weapons dealer on the ground. She's good friends with the Elliot family, specifically Vernon Elliot who she does favors for more times than she can count. But the woman has secrets and she's the one person Takeshi Kovacs isn't able to figure out from the moment he meets her. Conveniently enough for him, though, she can't quite figure him out, either.Note: This is also posted on tumblr. My username on there is klinenovakwinchester.





	1. Who the hell is this guy?

**Author's Note:**

> Our story begins in season 1, episode 3, "In A Lonely Place." Replace the dealer that Elliot takes Kovacs to with Nym Rolark, and there you go. It will follow close to the storyline of the show, but there will be some differences. Enjoy!

Nym Rolark is a longtime friend to Vernon Elliot. She’s who he goes to when he needs any…well, “hardware” as Kovacs put it.

But what Elliot fails to mention to Kovacs is just how feisty this Nym is.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Elliot?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth. Kovacs’s smirk doesn’t go unnoticed, but she doesn’t verbally acknowledge him just yet. “I told you to call before you come over.”

“I know,” Elliot admits, a hint of apology in his tone. “But this is kind of last minute.”

“My least favorite phrase,” Nym comments, turning around to cross her arms over her chest. “And I don’t do favors for anyone, so who the hell is this guy?”

“Takeshi Kovacs,” the man in question answers, still smirking. It’s annoying. It makes Nym want to slap it right off his face.

“The Envoy?” She replies with disinterest, then looking to Elliot. “Why did you bring him here?”

“I need some hardware,” Kovacs answers for himself. “Lethal kind.”

“I don’t own anything that’s not lethal,” she deadpans, turning back to Elliot. “Who’s paying?”

“I am,” Kovacs answers again, getting a little irritated himself that she won’t speak directly to him.

“Of course you are,” Nym rolls her eyes. “What’s your price?”

He shrugs his shoulders, but not in the nonchalant way. In the arrogant way. “Whatever it takes.”

_Christ_ , she thinks, _the quicker we get this over with, the better._ “Fine. Right this way.”

She leads the two men – one friend, one…enemy, or what she isn’t sure just yet – down the hallway to her basement door. She knocks twice, mostly out of habit, before shoving the door open, flicking the light on. She doesn’t bother looking back to see if they’re following, trusting that Elliot is either leading the way or Kovacs is fast enough to keep up with her.

She hears two sets of footsteps, though, so the former must be true.

When she reaches the hardware room, she bends down to lift the garage door up, flicking these lights on as well.

“These are the classics,” she announces, a little annoyed that she has to, but since the Envoy is new, she does. She moves over to a locked vault, scanning her hand before saying, “These are the new additions – they’re expensive.”

“I’ll take your best.”

“That’s subjective,” Nym fires back, gesturing to the classics. “Those are my favorite, therefore my best.”

Kovacs smirks. “What’ll do the most damage?”

“That depends on the person.”

Elliot glances between them tiredly. “Listen, you said you need this stuff now. Can you stop picking a fight for five goddamn seconds so we can get your shit?”

Kovacs gives the man a look, wondering where in the hell that came from – and why Elliot thinks he can speak to Kovacs like that all of the sudden – but all it takes is one look at Nym to see.

The Elliot family have been more of a family to Nym than her own family has. And that’s all Kovacs can tell. But that alone, in combination with Nym’s attitude, is enough to make him back off.

“Ingram 40 flechette,” Nym holds up what, despite her previous comments, is arguably her favorite of the more advanced weapons.

“There we go.”

“Prototype?” Kovacs asks.

Nym doesn’t hear any malicious intent behind his words, but her comment comes before she can register that. “Who do you think I am?”

And Kovacs’s reply is just as quick. “Someone who really has an issue with people like me.”

“With strangers,” she corrects him, then nodding and muttering, “You’re one to talk.”

“Seriously?” Elliot nearly groans.

“CTAC R and D,” Nym continues, picking back up on the real conversation at hand. “Uses flanged armor-piercing rounds. Ten-round clip. Homing tech onboard.” She watches as Kovacs – _the dumbass_ , she thinks – places his hand at the bottom, causing her to offer a warning. “Don’t put your hand there.”

He almost looks offended. “Why?” And when she reaches to grab the gun, he pulls it back.

She sighs. “Do you want me to show you or would you rather me let you learn the hard way?”

That arrogant smirk crosses his lips again before he gives in, handing the gun over. Nym doesn’t miss a single beat before saying, “Watch your head,” to which Elliot ducks as she fires the gun at the wall. Kovacs raises his eyebrows at the bullet lodged a few inches into the solid concrete. “Stay down,” she instructs when she sees Elliot beginning to stand. She presses the second button, the bullet flinging itself back to the gun.

“That’s why,” Nym explains, wanting to add _dumbass_ at the end, but deciding against it. “Reverse the field generator, the flechette homes through a plasma chamber, autoloads right into the mag.”

“Is that new?” Elliot asks, his fingers grazing the bullet hole in a daze.

“New to me,” Nym smirks. “Got a pair of them last week.”

“I’ll take one,” Kovacs speaks up, bringing the attention back to him – _he has a habit of that_ , she thinks.

“Alright,” she nods, handing him the gun while eyeing what he already has in his hand. “Is that custom?”

Kovacs glances at the weapon in his hand before shrugging, this time in the _I don’t know_ way.

“You mind?”

He hands it over without a fight, or a sarcastic comment, surprisingly. “Modified second series Nemex?” Nym asks in shock. “Where did you get this?” She doesn’t even have one here.

“From a guy who doesn’t need it anymore.”

“Fair enough,” she nods, handing it back. “That’s where half my inventory comes from.”

“And the other half?”

“You don’t need to know.”

Kovacs smirks again. “You got any blades?”

“Do I got any blades?” She replies, rolling her eyes. “Come this way.”

She tips the box lid, revealing her vast array of knives. She’s collected these the longest, so she has a larger selection.

“Tebbit knife. Tantalum steel alloy blade. Flint in the pommel for weighting.”

Nym smiles proudly at Elliot.

“Bioweapon coating?” Is Kovacs’s only question.

“Runnel’s coated with Reaper,” Nym answers easily, handing him the knife. It’s her favorite of the blades. Her personal choice in combat. “Betathanatine.”

“Shit scientists cooked up to study near-death experience,” Elliot adds.

“Deeper you stab, the more dose you get.”

“Ring it up. Plus whatever he wants,” Kovacs nods toward Elliot.

“I already know what he wants,” Nym rolls her eyes, heading back to the main room. “Sunjet 2320?”

“You already know,” Elliot calls after her. “Classics never go out of style.”

“You know it,” Nym agrees, placing the Sunjet on the counter. “Is that all?”

Kovacs nods. “I think so.”

She holds out the DNA scanner with a tired look. And when Kovacs makes no move to walk over, she sighs. “Either you pay or I keep the stuff. Your choice.”

He smirks again, the arrogant kind as he practically waltzes over, taking his _sweet ass_ time before placing his thumb on the scanner. The screen goes from orange to green, bringing a smile to Nym’s face.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

That smirk stays on his face as he gathers the weapons and stuffs them inside a…pink Hello Unicorn back pack.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Kovacs raises his eyebrows, teasing before bringing the bag up and kissing it.

“Nothing,” Nym shakes her head, accepting Elliot’s side hug. “Can I ask why you need all this shit?”

Elliot furrows his eyebrows. “You never do.”

“Well, you’re not normally bringing strangers in here,” she reminds him, shooting Kovacs a glance. “Let alone an Envoy looking into Bancroft’s death.”

“Well, Bancroft’s only been murdered once.”

The glance Nym sends Kovacs turns heated. “You don’t believe he killed himself, huh?” Everyone seems to think the ass was murdered. Everyone except Nym. And the police, apparently, because they couldn’t find any evidence of a murder. Just of a suicide.

He shrugs. And doesn’t say another word.

“Seriously, Elliot, why are you friends with him?”

“Not friends,” Elliot clarifies quickly, sensing Kovacs is almost on the way to commenting about it, too. He looks to Nym, squeezing her in the hug a little tighter. “He’s helping Lizzie.”

Immediately, Nym’s expression changes. “How?”

Elliot explains everything, and explains his original reluctance to let any of it happen, but Nym understands. She knows he’ll do anything for Lizzie. Because Nym would too.

“How much is it costing? I can help, you know I—”

“Actually, Kovacs is covering it.”

 “Oh,” Nym nods, giving Kovacs a more respectful nod this time. “Well thank you.”

“Technically, Bancroft is covering it,” Kovacs clarifies. “It’s just on the tab.”

Nym nearly rolls her eyes. He’s got Meth money and suddenly he doesn’t know how to handle himself. That’s what normally happens when you get your hands on that amount of money. Nym saw it firsthand in her own family.

“Well,” she sighs, patting Elliot’s back. “I’ve got somewhere to be, so, not to be rude—” She pauses to glare at the Envoy when she hears him snicker. “—but get the hell outta here.”

“Us too,” Elliot chuckles. “You have fun.”

“And you be careful,” she punches Elliot’s shoulder. “I mean it.”

“I will.”

“What about me?” Kovacs speaks up, completely ruining the moment.

“Don’t take this personally,” Nym smirks, “but I think you can handle yourself, Envoy.”

He smirks in return, and Nym swears she hears a chuckle come from his chest, but she isn’t sure.

She’s only spent half an hour with him, but Nym can’t figure out Takeshi Kovacs.


	2. Miss Nymphadora Rolark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym has to suffer through parties at Laurens Bancroft's house a few nights out of the year. But tonight is about to be particularly interesting.

Going to parties at Bancroft’s – or any Meth’s house, for that matter, has never and will never be the highlight of Nym’s life. If she wasn’t absolutely forced into these things by her mother, then she would never show her face here.

She’s a bit of an outcast when it comes to these people. She lives on the ground – not without fighting tooth and nail to get her mother’s permission, obviously. Everyone lives here, in the Aerium. But she despises it up here.

It’s not…ugly up here by any means. The scenery, the open sky. It is beautiful, and she’ll give it that. But it’s the people. The atmosphere – not the literal one, the metaphorical one. The one that surrounds those that are Meths. All that they stand for. All that they are.

It’s disgusting.

But since she comes from a family of them, she has to bear it a few nights out of every year. It wouldn’t sound so bad if she knew she wasn’t going to live forever. That’s another bone to pick she has with her mother. Keeping her backed up when she doesn’t want to be. Nym doesn’t care about being re-sleeved. Shit happens. But being essentially brought back from the dead? If her stack is destroyed, RD’d as everyone puts it, then that should be the end.

But apparently not for Meths. They’re the exception. For whatever fucking reason.

She’s in a red floor-length dress with gold accents, something she also had to fight to wear. All Meths – or at least in previous experience – typically wear lighter colors. As if the purity of the color white would save any of them from their sins.

But Nym doesn’t do white. She wears black. Unfortunately, black was out of the question. So her and her mother settled on red.

“Remember to be nice.”

_I'll be civil_ , she thinks.

Nym’s mother – Haven is her name, and she’s something of a character – grabs Nym’s arm when they step out of the car. “Remember all that Laurens has done for us.”

_Laurens_ , Nym almost scoffs, _on a first-name basis now, are we?_

“Are you hearing me? Nymphadora?”

_Christ, not the full name._ She heaves out a sigh, turning to face her fully, stopping them both in their steps. “Yes, mother, I hear you.”

“Are you sure?”

Nym gives her a tired look. “I’m sure. Can we go?” _Quicker we get inside, quicker I can leave_.

“Yes,” Haven answers with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

Laurens Bancroft’s house is one the most distinct places in the Aerium – and it’s hard to be distinct with so few places up here. The interior is really what everyone comes for. The Songspire tree in the hallway – totally illegal, but apparently not for a Meth. Everything else is white. Ancient architecture all around, with a modern twist – everything screams Meth money and it makes Nym’s skin crawl.

One of his guards scans them both as they walk in the door. No weapons on the grounds – the rule Bancroft has at every party, as if someone would want to kill him. Many may dislike him, but no one is dumb enough to kill Laurens Bancroft. The only person dumb enough to do that is Bancroft himself.

Nym shakes her head to get those thoughts out of there. She is going to be miserable enough as it is. She doesn’t need to bother angering herself more on her own by thinking about some Meth’s stupid death wish he forgot he had.

Before she can disconnect herself from her mother to find a drink, Haven is dragging her in the opposite direction of the bar. “We need to say hi to Laurens first. Have you seen Laurens? Over there? Thank you, you’re so kind.”

Nym stops herself from rolling her eyes, wondering if she rolls her eyes even more they’ll eventually roll out of her head.

They find Laurens soon enough, standing with his wife, Miriam, which nearly makes Nym gag. If there’s two people she can’t stand more than anything else, it’s Laurens and Miriam Bancroft. Miriam is easier to tolerate because Laurens is nothing short of a pervert. Miriam isn’t, and she’s fun to drink with.

Despite being married, it isn’t hard to see Laurens has had an unabashed pull toward Haven – which only disgusts Nym more. She doesn’t care what her mother does, not since Nym’s dad RD’d himself, but with Laurens? She could’ve picked a better person.

“Ah, Haven…and Nymphadora,” Laurens doesn’t try to hide the surprise in his voice – as if he doesn’t know of Haven and her daughter’s agreement. “It’s lovely to see you both.” Kisses on the cheeks that make Nym want to punch Laurens in the face. “I see you’ve gone for a rather…unique color there, Miss Rolark.”

Nym sighs, trying her best to hold her tongue. But Miriam – this is the one thing the woman does that makes her tolerable – steps in.

“I quite like the color on her,” she smiles, ushering the younger closer. Nym obeys, hoping to entertain them for a moment before she can slip away for the night. “Is this your something unique?”

“Something unique what?”

Haven gently touches her daughter’s arm, which quite frankly, is startling. “Laurens asked everyone to bring something unique tonight.”

“Well, considering I brought nothing else,” Nym tries to let out a short chuckle, running her fingers through the fabric. “I suppose this is my something unique, then.”

“Wonderful,” Miriam gushes. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

_Hear about it?_ Nym wants to ask but doesn’t bother. She doesn’t want this conversation to drain on any longer than it has to.

And as always, the Bancrofts are quickly called out to a second later, excusing themselves from Nym and her mother.

“Who else is here?” Haven wastes no time in looking for someone else to talk to. She thinks that if she submerges Nym in this lifestyle whenever she can, Nym will eventually want to move back to the Aerium. Haven has even offered to give Nym her own place and everything. But that alone isn’t enough for her daughter. Expensive houses and materials don’t satisfy Nym the way her weapons do. They’re all she needs, not a big fancy mansion in the sky surrounded by people she doesn’t even like.

When her mother doesn’t find someone quick enough, Nym excuses herself to the bar, walking away before her mother can say another word.

The bar is easy to find. The unfortunate thing? They’re serving champagne.

“Do you have any whiskey for Christ’s sake,” Nym mutters. The bartender glances at her in surprise. “Whiskey? On the rocks?”

Surprisingly, there is some. A few moments later she’s holding a glass of the best whiskey around – even though she does prefer the stuff on the ground – and for this short few seconds, everything is alright.

Everything is alright…until she sees Vernon Elliot.


	3. I don't have the time, Kovacs.

“Shit,” Nym curses, ducking behind a column. _What the hell is he doing here?_

She doesn’t have the time to wonder about that question right now. Vernon Elliot, a friend she made on the ground all on her own, is up in the Aerium. Nym lives…a double life, for lack of a better phrase. And she never – _never_ wanted them to cross over. But it’s too late for that now, apparently.

And he’s serving drinks? When the hell did he become a _sommelier_?

The whiskey glass shakes in her hand, causing her to curse out loud once more. Her mind is racing with questions, the main one being where she’s going to hide. There’s absolutely nowhere to hide here, not with her mother lurking around every corner.

 _Hiding isn’t going to solve anything,_ she thinks. _So let’s hide in plain sight._

She’s going to have to lay on the Meth act real thick, but that’ll do nothing besides delight her mother. And a delighted mother for one night doesn’t sound awful to Nym. It would be a wonderful change.

Nym steps out from behind the column, searching the crowd for her mother. Once she finds her, she straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and begins walking the way she used to.

Nymphadora used to enjoy her life. And her real name. There was a time when she genuinely thought she’d give Bancroft a run for his money (literally) in being the most notable Meth. But things change.

Even though they change, the nature of Nym doesn’t. She may have shortened her name and made a home on the ground, but she has Meth blood. Literally. She can’t change that. So she might as well use it to her advantage.

But that quickly backfires when she sees who her mother is talking to.

And it’s too late. “There she is. Nymphadora!”

Cursing herself and wanting to hide again, Nym has no choice but to keep up the act. So she does.

“This is Takeshi Kovacs, the Envoy,” Haven introduces the man, oblivious to the fact that her daughter has already met him.

“Nymphadora Rolark,” Nym replies, holding out her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kovacs. You’ve been the talk of the Aerium lately.” Nym’s mother looks pleasantly surprised at her daughter’s change in demeanor.

Kovacs shakes Nym’s hand gently, biting back that arrogant smirk of his. “Pleasure’s all mine, _Nymphadora_.” He almost spits the name, as if he can tell every syllable tears away at her sanity.

She yanks her hand away, idly swirling the whiskey in her glass. “What is an Envoy doing at a Meth party?”

Kovacs gives her a look that almost screams _I could ask you the same thing_. “Bancroft invited me,” is what he settles on. “And I need to be meeting him, so excuse me.” His shoulder knocks ever-so-slightly into Nym’s as he turns to walk away, a silent communication that lets Nym know she will be seeing him again.

“Do you know him?” Haven asks, bringing her glass of champagne to her lips.

“Nope,” Nym replies, shaking her head and downing the rest of the whiskey in her glass. “I need more,” she scoffs, sauntering back toward the bar.

The bartender looks equally unamused and surprised to see Nym back so soon, but he fills her glass without a single word. She even thanks him this time for not arguing.

Kovacs’s meeting with Bancroft can’t have lasted too long – or maybe he didn’t have one at all – because Nym finds herself next to the Envoy before she can even take a sip from her whiskey.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, downing half the glass of champagne in one go. She almost begins to laugh. A man like Takeshi Kovacs drinking pink, sparkling champagne is a sight to see, truly.

“Long story,” Nym replies, nursing her whiskey. “And you?”

“Long story,” he shrugs.

 _Fine_ , she thinks. _If that’s how he wants tonight to go._ “What’s Vernon doing here?”

“Helping me.”

“With what?”

“Business,” Kovacs shrugs again.

And suddenly their earlier encounter makes sense. They needed those weapons for tonight. Of course. “You know there’s no weapons on the grounds.”

“Who said I had any weapons?”

“I sold you some earlier, dumbass,” Nym hisses, the whiskey doing nothing but making it harder for her to hold her tongue. Or maybe she can blame that affect on Kovacs. This is only her second time encountering him and he _still_ works her nerves.

“I don’t see anything on me right now.”

“Listen, whatever you’re here to do, don’t be stupid,” she mutters, drinking more whiskey.

“I take it you don’t like these things.”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” She asks, maybe a little too defensive. “Right. Envoy bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t call it bullshit—”

“I don’t have the time, Kovacs,” Nym shakes her head. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t need my mother asking questions about you.”

And on that note, Nym leaves, heading back to her mother who is talking to yet another Meth. Clarissa Severin. None of the Meths are particularly nice, but Clarissa is particularly…odd. Something about her has never sat right with Nym, but she’s yet to figure out what exactly it is.

Those thoughts aside, Nym has to be civil. So she is.

“Clarissa!” She beams, kissing both cheeks. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you as well,” Clarissa smiles. She nods over to the bar. “I saw you talking to the Envoy. He’s quite interesting, isn’t he?”

Nym fumbles for her words for a moment, sensing the glance her mother is sending her. “He is interesting, yes.”

“The finder’s fee for that one was…delightful,” Clarissa chuckles, haughty. Then, changing the subject, she asks, “Have you brought something unique for tonight?”

“You’re looking at it,” Nym smirks, swishing the skirt of her dress a little.

“Ah, yes,” Clarissa smiles, tight-lipped, eyeing Nym’s bright red dress before she glances at Haven. “Your daughter loves to stand out.”

“That she does,” Haven answers with an equally tight smile, no doubt holding back from saying a long string of things that Nym is sure she’ll hear about later.

“Well, if you’ll both excuse me, I have to go retrieve my unique item,” Clarissa says it like she’s trying to one-up them both, causing the mother and daughter to share a similar look for the first time tonight.

“What do you think she brought?” Haven murmurs.

Nym shrugs. “Her bragging rights about the Envoy?” Something that made it down to the ground to Nym – from her mother, of course – was Clarissa finding something as rare as an Envoy and offering

Haven snickers, drinking more champagne. “Yes, that’s something we’ll hear about until the end of time, I’m sure.”

Nym wishes her mother wasn’t kidding.

When Haven finishes the last of her champagne, a certain Vernon Elliot walks over with a tray of full glasses. He eyes Nym suspiciously as he says, “Drinks, ladies.”

Nym holds up her whiskey glass, and she swears she sees his lips turn up at the corners. “I’m good, thanks sir.”

He nods, leaving after Haven takes a fresh glass off the tray. Nym lets out a breath, glad to see Elliot isn’t showing any signs of anger about seeing her here. But he could be holding it in until they’re back on the ground. Who knows.

She really wants to kick Kovacs’s ass, though. She’s kept her Meth side from the Elliot family – and everyone on the ground, really – for the twenty years that she’s known them. And then all of the sudden Takeshi Kovacs comes waltzing in and drags Vernon Elliot right with him, up to the Aerium. The one place Nym has to be a different person – where she has to be _Nymphadora_ – the version of herself that she never wanted Vernon to meet.

She catches a glance of Kovacs on top of the balcony with Bancroft. He smirks down at her, but all she does is glare.

Yeah, she’ll have a talk with him later. And it won’t be hard, especially since he’s so damn adamant about talking to her to get under her skin.


End file.
